Duty
by femalegamer
Summary: Swooping is bad challenge. Arl Eamon talks to Alistair about his duty as future king of Ferelden. Based on the comments, hereafter known as the Eamon Is a Dick fiction.


Alistair very quietly turned to close the door in the pre-dawn gloom, boots held in his hand. His hair was even more tousled than it normally was, and the ties of his shirt were undone.

The situation was clear to those in the know: he was sneaking out of her room. Her, in this case, being the grey warden Neria.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he managed to close the door without making a sound. He straightened and turned to see Bann Teagan sitting in the chair across the way, a book in his hand. The noble raised one expressive eyebrow at him.

"Ah, you're finally awake. Eamon wishes to speak with you about… things."

"I, er, I happened to leave my boots in there and needed to fetch them – I wanted to go for an early morning walk around Redcliff…" Alistair floundered. They had thought they were being so _careful_. Teagan snorted in amusement.

"Yes, no doubt. Next time, remember to turn your sheets down, as well, I find that works much better, "was his sardonic advice. "But, really, Alistair, what were you thinking? We suspected something was going on, with the way you've been making calf's eyes at each other, but in the castle? Really?"

Alistair hung his head, blushing. "I suppose I didn't really think, sir. It's just… "He trailed off, uncertain what to say. Other than just recently, this man hadn't known him since he was a child.

"Yes, I know, true love and all that, no doubt." Teagan opened the door to the study and gestured courteously for the grey warden to precede him. Arl Eamon sat silhouetted against the firelight. He sighed deeply and stood, gesturing for his brother to close the door; Teagan did so and then leaned on it, arms folded.

"Alistair, please sit down. I'm sorry that we have to have this conversation." The arl turned away, staring into the fire. The pause began to grow uncomfortable.

"Sir, given the circumstances of the conversation, it's clear you aren't going to dress me down about tracking mud into the castle. Bann Teagan – commented about things on our way here. This is about Neria and me, isn't it?" Alistair's normally playful voice was nothing of the sort – in fact, he sounded like he was getting just a little angry. "I don't understand where it's any of your business. Sir."

The arl spun on his heel. "It seems to me that we're about to make it all of Ferelden's business! Tomorrow, we leave for the Landsmeet, and last time I checked, we were going to make you king. To do that, we need the support of the nobles that sit on it."

"Do you really think that they'll understand about the king having a relationship with some nameless elven mage? And a grey warden to boot? Bann Tanessa will have an apoplectic fit; her son was killed by a mob in her alienage just last year," Eagan interjected, a hint of sarcasm coloring his voice.

"Mages forfeit their titles for a reason, Alistair. Can you imagine a ruler that has the power – even if they've set it aside – the power to control other's minds? Orlais wouldn't trust reports from their own ambassador! My own son is going to be sent off to that cursed tower – don't you think I would find a way for an exception if such a thing existed?" Eamon sat down again, heavily, as though the earth's pull had grown while he stood.

"But if I'm king, I should be able to make the rules, shouldn't I? She'll be a hero after this, I suppose we both would be, and I don't know if I could be king without her helping me… and, and I love her." The last was in nearly a whisper, as if saying it aloud could ruin everything.

The arl rubbed his forehead. "Oh, Alistair, I know I don't have to lecture you on duty – you're a grey warden, for Andraste's sake, you know all about sacrifice. I'm certain that all you say will give you a great deal of credit, and you could surely improve the lot of magi or elves, or maybe even both. But all of these things at once, to that degree? It's impossible, that quickly. They might accept her as a councilor, just barely, but the rest… "He sighed deeply. "I know you're a young man, and you think you love this girl –"

"I do love her!" The exclamation was torn from his mouth without it passing through his brain at all.

"Yes, of course, of course, I'm sorry to imply otherwise. You love her, but she cannot be your consort. If she were just a commoner, that could be fixed, I suppose – after all, Lohgain himself was a farmer before becoming a hero. But she's a mage, and she's an elf _and_ she's a grey warden."

"But – arrgh! You say that like I can just cast her aside! I. Love. Her. Why can't you understand that?!" Alistair through his hands in the air. He almost kicked a chair, but thought better of it in his unshod feet.

Eamon's voice barely carried, a stark contrast to the grey warden's raging. "I know that grey wardens have problems with children, lad. Do you want to be right back here, with no clear heir, in a generation's time?"

Alistair looked stricken, like someone had thumped him in the back of the head. "Couldn't I just – name someone my heir? Find one of the noble's sons who's a good man?"

Eamon shook his head. "He'll have an edge, but that's it. Chaos, civil war. Is that the legacy you wish to leave Ferelden?"

Alistair slumped into the chair he had almost kicked. His head hung forward, hiding the tears that threatened to spill as he shook his head. "No. Maker's Breath, how do I tell her?"


End file.
